


in other words, hold my hand

by damnneovelvet



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Clothed Sex, Donghyuck used to be a mermaid, Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, Fingerfucking, M/M, Oral Fixation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, slight praise kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:16:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29887896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damnneovelvet/pseuds/damnneovelvet
Summary: It's so dark, it's difficult to tell where Donghyuck begins and where Mark ends—maybe, there is no beginning or end. It's just them, tied in a loop of thick, red, thread and decorated with shimmery, opal shells.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 2
Kudos: 80





	in other words, hold my hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosywonu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosywonu/gifts).



> I started this 6 months ago, didn't finish it, it grew a plot, I had to cut that out, and now I've lost hope and declared this the final product. it is long overdue.
> 
> title from fly me to the moon by frank sinatra because this one's working title was just 'mh pwp'.
> 
> p.s. any repetitions of metaphors are unintentional, I haven't edited this. enjoy.
> 
> cw: body image ?

They say mirrors lie more often than not—and they might. For others, they might. It doesn't stand true for Donghyuck.

The sleek image of a black, long silk camisole touching the contours of Donghyuck's sun-kissed body gently, with his gunmetal silver hair combed and wispy, is truly a sight to behold. Frankly speaking, he looks beautiful because how can he not, when his physique is this charming. The spatter of iridescent, gold and silver scales on his thighs glimmer in the light of the sunset, and Donghyuck has never been more glad for his origins as a fish.

He twirls once and finds he is pleased with the way his ass peeks—a lot perkier than it actually is. It looks ready to bite.

It's risqué. It's sexy.

Donghyuck tugs the neckline of his dress lower with one finger and lifts the hem where it ends at the middle of his thighs with his other hand, letting his rough fingertips trail over the soft skin.

Mark used to enjoy leaving bites on his chest—said they make Donghyuck look prettier than he already is—but it's been more than a week since they've gone beyond kissing, and there are no love bites left for him to preen at. Ever since Donghyuck started working at a human-owned company, Mark stopped leaving dark bruises in visible places. He licks and sucks gently but doesn't bite if he can avoid it. Donghyuck puffs out his cheeks but quickly grimaces. He feels embarrassed. 

It's been a month of no sex and just pecks on the lips. There's no reason for him to have ordered the camisole or to have readied scented candles on their desk and dresser. It's not desperation yet. If Mark is too exhausted to have sex today—fuck university—then Donghyuck will back off without a word. He can always enjoy getting off in the shower, just as he has been, but nothing replaces having Mark tangled in the sheets with him. 

Donghyuck is a fish, and he wasn't built to have sex, but when it's Mark and his rosy cheeks and groans in his ears, even biology has to kneel on the floor with its knees spread open.

For the slightest moment, he wonders why they haven't had sex for such a long time when they used to go at it like rabbits before. There's no reason for Mark to be weaselling out of sex on free weekends at least. According to the internet, there are a few reasons this could be happening. He trusts Mark, but if he ever came home with someone else's scent clinging to him—his blood boils—Donghyuck would become a man-eating fish. That possibility can be ruled out. The other possibility...is that Mark has begun losing interest in Donghyuck's body. 

He smacks his thigh. He's going to do this. No space for embarrassment. No space for insecurity. 

Donghyuck just wants to get fucked out of his mind and he's going to have Mark panting over him, be it on the bed or the table.

When Mark kisses him later today he will make sure there are little, red marks all over his collarbones too. He can always button his shirt all the way up when he goes to work.

He sucks in a breath and pokes out his tongue, trying to flatten his stomach out as he steps away from the mirror. The fabric creases a little, but the harsh edge of a chipped-off scale, right above his abdomen, digs into the skin and it stings. It's not worth it. He exhales noisily and turns away. Besides, Mark likes Donghyuck just the way he is, all soft edges where his harsher lines end. The very memory of Mark's fascinated expression brings a smile to Donghyuck's face.

Padding around the wooden floor of their apartment barefoot, with his legs on display—and God, save anyone who wants a taste of them, they're long, he knows, it's been two years of owning legs but he adores them—he hums a tune he caught from the television. The clock ticks past five p.m. and any second now, the front door will open, then the bedroom door, and when Mark will stand with his mouth open, Donghyuck will pull him onto the bed. 

He pulls the heavy curtains close and curses his boyfriend for never bothering to launder their thinner ones. 

They own pretty day-curtains, with little seaweeds sewn at the bottom, and they look amazing—just the right amount of fluttery, allowing enough light onto their bed. The best thing to happen after leaving the ocean to follow Mark was sunlight. He loves it. He loves the feeling of warmth on his skin whenever he lies down on the floor naked. Now only if Mark does the laundry later. 

Donghyuck rummages through the drawers for a leftover Christmas candle—which he knows is still around because he's the one who bought it last year—but turns up with a half-finished cup of lavender-scented candle. There's not much hope for anything else, so he settles for it. When the room glows from the light of the candles and the only shadow on the wall is his own, Donghyuck drinks a glass of water to calm himself down. He's weirdly jittery. 

To begin with, he isn't good at waiting for things like these. He has never done this before. 

It feels odd, to be seducing your own boyfriend with the intention of having him do something. Sometimes, though, weird measures have to be taken to combat weird problems, like Donghyuck's desire to be filled up to the brim until he can't form words. Mark likes having sex with Donghyuck. Which is great, because Donghyuck likes it too. It's just new to wait for Mark like this, under-dressed and hot-cheeked.

He gulps, tugging at the spaghetti straps of his dress, and releases a deep breath. He licks his lips. There's a tingling in his stomach, much like when Mark is hovering over his body, with a cute, floaty feeling twinkling in his ears.

He can see Mark's face behind his eyelids. An innocent grin, pastel hair, sparkling eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. Pretty boy with an honest mouth calling his name with all the love his body can muster. How can someone love a fish boy as much as Mark loves him? It is _sweet._ So sweet. Donghyuck won't ever let any of that sweetness go anywhere. It's his and all his. He intends to hold with hands as gentle as the cradle of the ocean where he was born.

With sudden heat in his body, Donghyuck anticipates this. Whatever _this_ is.

Today evening, Mark will find himself mind-boggled by his boyfriend's beauty once again. Today, like other days, he will gently caress Donghyuck in places that jump with craving whenever Donghyuck thinks of him. Mark will find him so sexy he will fuck him till there's nothing left for the both of them but screams—he already feels his toes curl at the thought—and if Mark isn't tired, they will go at all night like they did when Donghyuck first slept with him. He wants to be pounded into the mattress face-first. He wants to feel used like a beloved sex doll.

More than anything else, tonight, it's going to be different because Donghyuck is wearing a motherfucking camisole dress, a reality that hadn't settled until a second ago, till his own hand wandered to the soft flesh on the inside of his thighs. And beneath that—

The main door closes outside. Perhaps he should brush on some eyeshadow, something smokey? 

It's too late.

The tips of Donghyuck's toes sizzle where they press into the floor. Anytime now.

The doorknob turns—his heartbeat accelerates—and lo and behold Mark Lee. A broken exhausted Mark Lee with traces of exhaustion clinging to the corners of his eyes, and sweater paws, and pastel pink hair—that Donghyuck had combed earlier that morning—in a mess of tangles as if Mark had been running his hands through it all day.

"Oh, Mark…" Donghyuck says, forgetting his excitement. His nerves blaze with worry.

He rushes to take away the bag and drops it into the desk chair before turning Mark's face towards him. He looks so worn—his mouth is set in a thin line, upper incisors out to nibble on his soft lip without caution. The hard set of his face dims to surprise in the flickering candlelight.

"What happened?"

"Bad day," Mark says, taking off his glasses. Donghyuck holds out a hand to take them and places them on the desk.

"Tell me about it?"

Mark settles him with a lazy stare and opens his mouth to speak but chokes on a noisy breath. His gaze catches onto the sight in front of him. The heat which had begun to flicker in Donghyuck's belly rekindles with the force of a falling skyscraper.

"Hyuckie…" he whispers, tilting his head to one side.

Mark groans then, steps forward, with his hands coming to gently grasp Donghyuck's arms. He plants his forehead to Donghyuck's exposed shoulder and sighs with the fatigue only someone like him can bottle up—the fatigue of working two part-time jobs and going to university to get his degree.

"There was an accident in the lab in the morning, then some horrible customers at the café," he says, voice gravelly, mouth hot against Donghyuck's skin, "Chenle threw them out, but it was so exhausting."

Dulling light slates through the gap between the curtains and falls in a neat line, over their tangled arms, illuminating Donghyuck's hair to silver.

He wraps himself around Mark as best as he can and pulls him close. Careful arms wrap around his middle in return, then their grip turns tight; Donghyuck's front presses against the soft wool of Mark's cardigan. They fit together like two men who have worked day and night for years to make sure they transform into shapes that compliment each other. He pulls back to drop a chaste kiss to the other's jaw, then to his cheekbone. Mark looks amused. Relief trickles down Donghyuck's body, but when he notices the underlying exhaustion, his chest hurts with anger. 

He wants to punch everyone who ruined Mark's day today. Before he can plan that, though, he has a boyfriend to coddle. A boyfriend who is invested in appraising Donghyuck's get-up with pinkening cheeks.

"You did well today," Donghyuck says, leading Mark to sway on their feet.

They soon catch onto the tail end of an invisible rhythm as they move side to side. Their feet shuffle, an inch here, an inch there, never straying too far. Donghyuck traces his way up to Mark's neck and pushes their foreheads together. He closes his eyes. All he hears is Mark's slow breathing, in front of him, around him, everywhere it needs to be, just for him and no one else. Donghyuck holds just one deep desire: to bring Mark peace on par with the shimmer of a home he has rubbed all over Donghyuck's chest.

"I did." Mark laughs wetly, then heaves out a tired breath. "It was such a shit day." He pecks Donghyuck's nose, quick and effortless, and it makes both of them smile.

"Mhm. I will help you make it better. Do you want some tea? Cuddles? Anything?"

"I'd ask you for cuddles," A dry fingertip slides across the small of Donghyuck's back, "but what's this? You look—" the finger turns into a palm and the thin fabric gathers under his hold, "—ready to be eaten up." 

"I dressed up for you. Or dressed down," Donghyuck breathes, rubbing his thumbs over Mark's cheekbones, "Do I look pretty?"

"Extremely."

"I wanted you to…wanted to ask if you would fuck me today. It's been a while. But you look so tired, I swear to God, you really need to sleep. All that hard work is killing you." Donghyuck says. He frowns at the twinkle in Mark's eyes. 

Mark hums, low and nuzzles where Donghyuck's neck meets his shoulder. _"You_ are killing me."

"Shut up. You're going to bed," Donghyuck pushes away to untangle his limbs from Mark's, a task that proves difficult because Mark grabs onto his forearms and pulls him closer.

"I don't want to, hyuckie. You look amazing," he whispers. He trails blunt nails over the scales on Donghyuck's thighs, sending jolts of surprise up his spine. 

Donghyuck shudders.

"I know. But don't worry, next time I'll wear makeup so I look hotter than you can ever imagine." _So that you only look at me,_ goes unsaid. _So that you never regret bringing me from the ocean._ It's been a while since they fucked or even played around. He hopes Mark never gets tired of him. An ugly streak of insecurity bites Donghyuck's stomach but Mark, as perceptive as ever, catches on.

"I'm too tired to go all the way," Mark's brows furrow, "but can I ask for something?"

Donghyuck nods.

"Can we still do something? You were in the mood, I don't want to ruin that. You can still ride me or I can—"

"Mark, look at you, baby." Donghyuck wants to nag him, wants to chide him for always forgetting to eat enough or to drink enough water while stuck trying to earn a stupid postgraduate degree, but he doesn't because this is a discussion they have often enough. _Just a year more to go,_ Mark would say, and Donghyuck would bite his tongue after saying something that would sour their moods for the evening. 

So he closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them to see a crestfallen pout.

"If you want to," Donghyuck says—and Mark immediately brightens up—"I can take the lead. Take some edge off you. You look like you really need it too. When was the last time you jerked off?"

"A week ago?" he admits, grinning sheepishly, "Maybe longer."

Donghyuck pushes in close, close enough that his breath mingles with Mark's. Their lips brush. Plush against soft.

"What am I going to do with you, Mark Lee?"

"You don't want to ride me?" he teases, shoulders lowering under Donghyuck's loving touch as tension flees him. But his expression is relieved. Extremely so. The tone of his words is meant to make Donghyuck blush, he knows—still, all it does is melt him like butter left under the sun. He would do whatever it takes to care for Mark.

"No, it's my turn to play with you." 

The change in demeanour strikes Mark visibly, leaving him puzzled but inhaling a sharp breath. Donghyuck curls his fingers into the front of his cardigan and tugs harshly, happily.

Their lips meet, with ferocity this time. With their eyes closed, it becomes difficult to tell who opens their mouth first and whose tongue, slick and hot, laps first, but it doesn't matter. Hot goes from summery to spicy within the gap between one suck at Mark's tongue and a playful bite at Donghyuck's lip.

The cardigan comes off first and then Mark's pants fall to the floor _—honey, off—_ guaranteed to wrinkle beyond salvation.

Donghyuck pins Mark to the bathroom door with firm hands and traces his way back up, with a touch bordering on teasing, to place his arms on either side of Mark's head. He may be a fish, and he may have spent a good time of their first year of knowing each other looking up at Mark from the water surface, separated by a wooden boardwalk and the sand, but he treasures every moment Mark has to look up at him.

It makes him wild. If he had his tail, he could swish powerful currents into being. Mark looks small but it is a submission to Donghyuck out of his own will. He is dazed, with blown pupils and wet lips.

"Hyuck," he rasps, "are you going to fuck me against the door?"

Oh, he would. If Donghyuck didn't have a plan forming at the back of his head, he would give in right then. All it would take is tearing off the silk underwear on him and turning Mark around. He wants to see his face, though. Tough luck.

"Not today," he leans in and prods his tongue at the corner of Mark's mouth, where spit mixes with the remainder of lip balm.

"Then take me to bed." Mark pouts. Normally, he'd argue he isn't pouting, but here he is, the very image of a man who knows how to utilise his boyfriend's weaknesses. What a minx. All feigned innocence and straightforward words in the dark. Donghyuck knows they're both beautiful, but in the shadow of candlelight, they're ethereal. He voices as much and Mark laughs like a little bell.

Donghyuck presses a chaste kiss at the point he licked. 

"You freshen up, and I'll be waiting for you. I'll light more candles. Want to get a good look at you when you come."

Clean hands; dirty brains. 

Donghyuck may be a fish, but he knows what he's talking about. While Mark is gone, he turns on the night lamp, places long, unscented candles amidst the scented ones, and sings under his breath. He slips off his underwear. A tiny, damp patch greets him. He balls it up and drops it in their laundry hamper along with Mark's clothes. When he picks up the cardigan, an idea strikes him.

By the time Donghyuck switches places with Mark and is done washing up—and procuring the good lube from the bathroom cupboard—Mark is already lying on his back, devoid of everything but a thin cotton t-shirt. He squirms—a pretty rose of a boy on top of block-print bedsheet roses. His cheeks are flushed. Lovely. 

Donghyuck hovers over him with the cardigan he'd pulled off earlier.

"Put your cardigan back on," Donghyuck instructs and plops it onto Mark's chest, "and your glasses. You look hot in them." 

The tips of Mark's ears turn ruddier than the flush travelling down his neck. Before he can sit up, Donghyuck's leg slides in place between his—hot thigh against hot thigh, a patch of tough scales against pliant skin. 

Donghyuck smirks.

"Hurry up, baby. We don't have all day." 

They do, in fact, have all day and more if they wished, but urgency lights a fire under Mark and Donghyuck has learned to take advantage of it. He will go slow. He will take all the time he needs to have Mark orgasming under him—more than once if possible. But Mark. Impatience will boil under his skin and take him to the edge where Donghyuck waits with spread legs. It's always a win for both of them.

Donghyuck leans back, strategically to flex the muscles in his thighs, and Mark sits up to slip on his cardigan. The navy sleeves cover his wrists, then palms, then knuckles, leaving only the calloused tips of his fingers. His glasses reflect the cluster of candles lit around them and shine orange. Behind them, his eyes are warm and electric, just as Donghyuck had wished for. His very own human gemstone with all the light in the world trapped in his bones and spilling out in the dark.

"I remember you once said," Donghyuck whispers, drawing close again and shoving Mark back onto the pillows, "you wanted to be fingerfucked while half-dressed."

"Is that what you're going to do to me?" Mark asks, huskily.

"Do you want me to?"

"Please." Such a well-mannered boy. Donghyuck will bite his nose.

Things move fast from there. 

A dollop of lube warmed between Donghyuck's nimble fingers reaches Mark's hole, tight and not ready to give. Donghyuck sneaks one hand under Mark's clothes and flicks his nipple.

"Ee—Hyuck, they're sensitive."

"I know."

"You're…" the rest of the sentence trails into a murmur then turns to noiseless gasping when Donghyuck rubs his nipple gently. He subdues the urge to bite them, to lick them, because that would defeat the purpose of having Mark half-dressed. He continues to rub tiny circles with both hands, stringing barely veiled curses from Mark now and then.

Donghyuck turns his touch Featherlight on Mark's chest and moves his fingers patternlessly.

Mark twitches around his other hand and Donghyuck inserts one finger as slowly as possible. The silken flesh swallows him with little protest. He prods around on purpose, already familiar with every corner of Mark's body.

By the time he has three fingers in, sweat beads at Mark's forehead and Donghyuck has abused his nipples enough to ache pleasurably. He starts massaging with both hands, the dry hand on Mark's hip now. Mark keens and arches his back when he circles over the thick patch of skin over his prostate and then releases the pressure. 

He keeps at it, grinning whenever Mark meets his eyes.

Donghyuck is hard. His dick pokes Mark's thigh but he refuses to address it despite Mark's repeated attempts. He wants to...to be sucked off, or to be fucked, or to have his dick wet with anything as long as Mark does it, but this is about Mark and the way he shudders whenever Donghyuck does something that sends liquid heat down his legs.

"I'll come if you keep doing that," Mark says, followed by a sharp gasp.

"Can you come twice today?"

"I don't think I can," he answers. He bites his lip, invitingly, and who is Donghyuck if not a fish who sees bait and falls for it every time.

Mark sucks at Donghyuck's tongue, their teeth clash lightly, forcing them to pull back but not too far. Donghyuck bites Mark's lips again and again, then slobbers a trail of kisses past his soft cheek, down his throat and along his sturdy shoulder, over the fabric of his cardigan. It's thrilling, if nothing else, to be clothed and yet so dirty together.

Mark whimpers when Donghyuck starts a gentle back and forth. His insides are so hot. It's not news, neither is it something exciting, but Donghyuck's blood runs south at breakneck speed. It's dangerous. His head spins. Mark's bruising grip holds him down to earth. Then, overcome by the rush of the moment, he decides to make it fast and messy, just how they enjoy it on shorter days, with too much spit to be sanitary.

The glasses smudge as they press against Donghyuck's cheek and they're sexy, honestly, but also more nuisance than necessary. Donghyuck gently takes them off to drop them away from the pillow.

Now free from the unease of accidentally breaking any glasses, he bends down to devour Mark's lips. He squeezes his free hand on the bony jut of Mark's hip and trails down, just shy of where his touch is craved most.

There is more lip in their kiss than tongue. 

Sparks buzz and die in the breaths they exchange, at the places where they meet repeatedly. Donghyuck presses in intensely—forgetting the slickness of Mark's hole stretching open for his fingers—

"Open wide, sweetie," he coos, rubbing Mark's swollen lower lip with his thumb. 

Mark hiccups another gasp as the pad of a cold finger runs along the periphery of his prostate and Donghyuck grasps the opportunity to dip his index finger into Mark's mouth—just the tip but it has him hissing in delight. He presses along the corner of Mark's mouth, wet with drool, and he opens a little wider, with his hot tongue eager to lick Donghyuck's skin.

Overwhelmed by the sight of Mark trying to fill himself with everything given to him, Donghyuck halts thrusting and leaves both fingers pressed around the sensitive bulge of his prostate, applying generous pressure to keep Mark sizzling. 

An impatient noise makes Donghyuck slip two clean fingers past Mark's teeth—right up to the last knuckles. He pants, utterly short of breath, as his fingers are licked from joint to joint. They feel heavy with the saliva Mark coats on them, gagging every few seconds but so enthusiastic he keeps lapping on the same spots without a worry. The roughened tips of Donghyuck's fingers brush against the roof of Mark's mouth, just shy of the soft palate. Donghyuck pulls his index finger back and replaces it with his ring finger. 

A bead of spit drips onto Mark's lips. 

Donghyuck's eyes are transfixed at the soft, pink, glistening tongue rolling around. Mark was made to do just one thing and it was to suck Donghyuck's fingers as if he were a god spun of sugar.

He makes the mistake of looking up into Mark's eyes. They sparkle darkly, pupils blown wide but enough colour left that Donghyuck can see his own flushed face reflected in them. Mark's eyes have always been so expressive—unable to hide anything—and even now, they speak of love, of worship, of knowing only one word— _Donghyuck, Donghyuck, Donghyuck_.

It feels like the warmth of an unexpected kiss, like the little things they do for each other on gloomy days and the fire in Donghyuck's abdomen flares. It's perfect. The only word ready to fall off his tongue is whispered into the thin space between them— _Mark, Mark, Mark_.

Donghyuck shudders, the pressure from Mark's walls finally making him realise the full ache in his wrist where he fingers him. 

"Baby," he says with astonishing stability, relishing the throb at his fingertips, "You're so pretty like this."

Mark teeths at the wrinkled skin of Donghyuck's knuckles.

"So pretty. Do you want to speak? Do you want to tell me how good it feels?" 

Donghyuck taps against Mark's prostate once, then twice for good measure before pulling his fingers out to circle his rim again. He digs back in—a loud squelch interrupts the loud sound of their breathing—then adds a third finger. Mark's eyes glitter with unshed tears and orange candlelight. He sucks dutifully, to hide the moans threatening to break out of him.

"You can make noise, sweetie—you _should_ make noise," Donghyuck says before dipping down to lick at a sweaty collarbone peeking past the cardigan.

Mark is soft like this.

Drowning in wool; pink hair pasted to his forehead; fingers hiding past slick red lips; fingers hiding at the depths of his body; eyelids fluttering closed with pleasure.

And he is the personification of sin. 

Donghyuck knows better than to trust this pliancy. Mark can flip them over whenever he wishes and swallow Donghyuck's cock without abandon. He can shove his own fingers along Donghyuck's eager tongue—and they would be welcome. It would take less than a minute to have Mark bouncing on top of him like an unrestrained incubus. If Donghyuck tries hard enough, Mark will fuck him hoarse.

If his fingers weren't busy playing tag inside Mark's mouth with his tongue as the grand prize, absolute filth would fill his ears. Breathless mutters starting with _baby you're never satisfied, so eager for me, will you come when I say,_ leading all the way to _you don't care whether I come in your mouth or your ass, do you, you just want to be filled with it all the way, all the time,_ and by the time both of them would be so gone with pleasure that no sensation but the ache of wanting to orgasm would be hurtling in their minds, Mark would slow down and tell him all the ways he could suck bruises into every patch of golden skin on his body and how he could make him scream next time because he's such a good boy.

The thoughts make Donghyuck wobble. Fingers in, finger out. He spreads them and Mark moans again. He thrusts in earnest, each thrust ending with a rough slide against Mark's prostate.

"You're the prettiest with your mouth full of me, love," Donghyuck says, quivering, "so open for me. Wet and filthy—just for me. Do my fingers turn you on so much? You're so good. Come on my fingers, okay?"

When Mark is left spineless, his tension loose and face half-smushed against the pillow in wait for the final push over the edge, Donghyuck pulls his fingers out of his mouth. They feel lonely as he wipes them over a stretch of slick thigh, but he doesn't want to be bitten, or worse, hurt Mark somehow.

"Ngh—" 

Donghyuck kisses Mark once, twice—he knows he's going to complain about an empty mouth—then moves to press a short flurry of kisses to his neck. He nibbles along the moon-shaped dip between his collarbones just for the sake of it.

Ah, he forgot to ask for hickeys. Next time, he will ask for those first.

"My mouth is lonely, hyuck," Mark breathes, complaining.

Donghyuck hums pleasantly, "I'll make sure to fill it up later, okay?"

His fingers, still wet and coated in spit, feel cold despite the heat in the room. He blows at them slowly—a sharp chill passes through his hand. In a moment of true genius, he settles his wet hand under Mark's cardigan, under his thin t-shirt, and flattens his fingers against Mark's abdomen.

Mark's chest heaves with a prolonged gasp.

"What are you doing…?"

"You licked my fingers so well, sweetie, left them dripping, how can I waste it," he says, dragging them along the curves and dips of Mark's stomach.

For the thrill of it, Donghyuck bends down, precariously, to lick a thick, fresh stripe along the side of Mark's abdomen. Then, he blows on it too and Mark squeaks. It's so hot Donghyuck is sweating and the camisole is sticking to his skin. He wonders just how hot it is in a t-shirt _and_ cardigan. It must be driving Mark crazy. He wonders if the blazing heat is adding to the rampage in Mark's head.

Once his fingers are dry, Donghyuck latches into the back of Mark's neck. It is soaked with sweat, just like the underside of Mark's jaw and the patch where his t-shirt has turned translucent on his chest.

Donghyuck pumps his fingers into Mark's ass with renewed vigour. 

"Ah!" Mark lurches. He pulls up his legs and brackets Donghyuck's sturdy frame. One of his knees collides with the back of Donghyuck's arm and it provides support to the hand fingering him, helping soothe the steadily growing ache in his muscles.

Being fingerfucked is heaven.

You remain damp and hot. Your skin sizzles on the inside with an intensity that can melt your bones and recast them. 

There are few benefits to fingerfucking when you're the giving party. But it doesn't matter. The single benefit, that of being able to reduce Mark to a creature of lust with moans filtering through his tight throat, is enough. Donghyuck's cock hurts where it waits drily. He can't come untouched like this, with nothing filling him up, but he can damn close by looking at the red splotches on Mark's body. Signs of passion, signs of embarrassment, signs of unravelling the arms of the person he keeps together.

It feels poetic when Mark throws his head back again and bares his neck, already mottled with stinging blossoms. It wouldn't hurt to add more, and so Donghyuck nibbles at the skin again.

"Hyuck—" he groans, "I want—"

"You want to come, baby?"

Mark nods frantically, eyes closed, mouth open in continuous gasps. His body is quivering under Donghyuck. Soon enough, he will begin to tremble.

Donghyuck's painfully hard dick decides for him. He pulls his fingers out, squelching with lube, and finally—finally after an agonizing wait—touches his own dick. His thigh twitches at the jolt of electricity that travels through his legs, right up to his toes. Mark's heat on the tip of Donghyuck's red, flushed dick. His head spins.

"You're gorgeous, Markie. I never want to leave you empty."

Mark's asshole gapes in front of his eyes, dark, puffy, and waiting to be filled. Donghyuck wants to fuck him. He's stretched out wide enough to take his dick without any pain but Mark is far gone. Maybe some other day, when Donghyuck finally knows what is keeping Mark from bringing any cocks near any assholes.

"Donghyuck—" It is threatening. A plea for stuffing Mark's full and a reprimand for leaving him cold, hanging for the better half of a minute. Mark's cock throbs against his abdomen. 

Without delay, Donghyuck holds it in his free hand—so warm, so alive, _he wants it inside him so bad he can cry—_ and dribbles spit all over the head. Mark hisses.

Then, Donghyuck licks.

"Ah—! Right there," Mark clenches his jaw, his teeth locked in a grind. His fingers fly to tangle in Donghyuck's hair painfully.

It doesn't take long. Donghyuck alternates between slowly stroking himself and suckling at Mark's head. He swallows Mark, just midway, and the weight on his tongue is what finally short-circuits his brain. The hand on his dick is too much, the heat in mouth is clobbering in the best possible way and he bends over to swallow him deeper, positively drooling and struggling to breathe through his nose.

"Hyu—hyuck, I'm," Mark warns brokenly. Donghyuck pulls off just in time but doesn't manage to avoid the spurt of Mark's come on his lips and cheek. He sits up as Mark's body breaks into tremors and his legs bracket Donghyuck tighter than before.

"Mark...so pretty."

Donghyuck licks his lips—the bitter taste spreads in his mouth immediately—and continues stroking himself. Up, down. Front, back. Wet. Scorching. Mark. So much Mark and so much—everything. His body fills with molten glass, pulling him to the round, and farther away from reality. He drowns in a world of no sound, only thundering in his ears and howling wind in his chest. He barely keeps from falling over a thoroughly spent Mark when he orgasms. Nothing bright and sunny. He tenses and when the wave of overwhelming everything passes over, he breathes into the sheets. They smell of sex, sweat, and the faintest hint of detergent.

"It's so hot." Mark grunts, tugging his cardigan off.

"It is." Donghyuck rolls off and to his side, one arm limp over Mark's chest. He came all over the cardigan. What a pity, now he will have to wash it by hand. He hates washing clothes by hand. He closes his eyes and pecks Mark wherever his mouth reaches before settling back into place and whining.

"You have come all over you," Mark breathes.

"Mhm."

"We should shower. Get rid of the stickiness."

"Mhm…"

Mark shoves him then onto his back then, climbing into his lap. He is still shivering. "I need you awake to shower."

"I am awake."

"You wouldn't be if I left you here." Mark narrows his eyes at him menacingly, but still wipes Donghyuck's face and hands with the sleeve of his cardigan, uncaring what happens to it afterwards.

"I kept a bottle of water on the table," Donghyuck says, feeling utterly comfortable.

"I saw. You planned to have sex today, didn't you?"

"No, Mark, I was going to do a photoshoot in this—" he pinches the camisole and speaks monotonously, tiredly "—and send it to a magazine. Or better, this is my nightgown now. No shirtlessness, I am past the stage of being shirtless. Humans wear odd clothes and I'll wear this to sleep every day."

That draws a huffed laugh and a click of the tongue from Mark.

Mark, on top of him, flushed, wet, and now naked, lodges a rugged stone in Donghyuck's throat. He has...many questions. Courtesy dictates that he should wait for them to shower and clean, to have full stomachs and eased spines when he brings up the one question that has been flitting at the back of his mind for a month.

To hell with courtesy.

"Will you tell me now?" Donghyuck asks, tilting his head to get a good look at Mark's expression, to perhaps, read him.

"What?"

"Why you aren't having sex with me."

He chews on his tongue, contemplating. If he told Mark—told him how he was down to seduce him and get in his pants because insecurity has taken seed in some scale on his body—would he think badly of Donghyuck? He probably won't. It's Mark. Everything else aside, it's the man Donghyuck loves so, so much.

"You know, don't worry about it, I'm overthink—"

"Hyuckie?" Mark asks, imploringly.

"I thought you were losing interest in me," Donghyuck confesses after a few tense seconds.

"I—that's—I don't know what to say. I'm sorry. I never lost interest in you, never will, I'm going to do my best. You're the best person I've ever met. I had my reasons but I should have talked to you about it. I'm sorry—"

"No, it's okay, don't apologize. I'm sorry too. I should have waite—"

"We should have talked. I...um...it's embarrassing, actually, now that I think of it."

"What is?"

"Just don't feel sorry for me, okay? I," Mark heaves a tired sigh, "I've been so exhausted lately, with school, with work, and there's no...end to this. It feels never-ending but in the worst way."

"I know I badmouth your university a lot, but I'm so proud of you, Mark."

A dazzling glow breaks over Mark's skin. Whether from the remains of his orgasm washing over him or from their much overdue proximity, Donghyuck can't tell. It's difficult to look away from Mark, who has entered thought overdrive. What is he thinking? His eyes flit rapidly over Donghyuck's face, searching for something, who knows what, and there's no way of telling if he finds it. Mark's lips quirk into a half-smile.

"Thank you. You've started working as well, you're also tired throughout the week. I'm also proud of you for doing all of this on your own, and grateful." Mark's nostalgic smile squeezes Donghyuck's heart, filling it with thick, bittersweetness. He wishes it were sweeter, even tougher, like ground sugarcane or drying molasses.

Donghyuck's desire to get a job without getting the necessary education had been a severe point of contention for months before one of their common friends pulled their weight in a small company. The secretary position is one of immense demand. It took a long time to learn the way everything works—printers, photocopiers, projectors—but Donghyuck did it. He owes a lot to Mark. He owes him everything he has away from the ocean. Mark bristles whenever Donghyuck as much as implies that. _You don't owe me anything,_ he always says with a diligent expression. 

How can Donghyuck not want to protect him and do everything within his power to make his life easier?

"I want to have sex with you, all the time, god, you're so—so, enticing. I want to eat you." Donghyuck's neck burns at Mark's words with poorly hidden delight and a tinge of embarrassment. "But I get to see you for just a few hours every day And I want to cook dinner with you, take you on dates, make memories with you...I did want to fuck you, but...it's easier just not to."

Mark bites his swollen lip and turns away, closing his eyes. He slides off Donghyuck then and lands in a heap of crumpled human.

"Ah, I'm so embarrassed, it's so stupid. I'm sorry, I shouldn't—"

"Mark, look at me, baby, here—" Donghyuck says, as coddling as he can get while he sits up, then turns Mark's face towards him, "—no, it's not stupid. I'm sorry I didn't ask you before. I knew you were tired, and so was I, but it's not your fault. It's nothing bad. The world won't end if we don't have sex for a few months."

It does strike Donghyuck in the chest. His own insecurity is no good when it comes to dealing with the harsh reality that he is never going to be as human as the others around him. The scales on his thighs flicker in the light, as if to remind him, that he bleeds different when cut open, even if the pain is the same. Mark's words don't help, but he knows. He knows Mark loves him. It's his source of strength. It is what keeps Donghyuck tethered to his human form, allows him to have legs. He feels guilty for driving Mark into a corner like this, acidic and oppressive in his gut. He can, however, be brave. It's the one thing about him he can't deny. 

Lee Donghyuck is brave and he can be brave for the person he loves.

"What if this goes on for long? What if I'm not ready to have sex again, ever?" Mark asks in a small voice.

"We're in this together, just us two. Today was sex too, you know and I'm fine with keeping this up if you're okay with that. I'll wait for you, and I know you'd wait for me if I were in your place." 

He omits the fact that if it were to go on for long, Donghyuck would encourage him to seek professional help. His office counsellor works wonders even when he's just venting about not being used to wearing a tie.

Mark runs a steady hand through Donghyuck's bangs.

"I love you, Donghyuck." 

It's not about the stress decreasing Mark's libido. It's not about all the efforts they've put into making a home together when all Donghyuck knew his entire life was how to map deep, cold, salty waters. Neither is it the warm ball of energy in Donghyuck's stomach telling him to trust himself and their relationship nor is it the subtle reassurance to Mark's possessiveness that Donghyuck won't find someone else to sleep with. It's not about anything grand or overarching.

It's about the simple fact that Mark is on their bed, half-clothed, with come all over his thighs and spit coating his skin under dying candlelight, with Donghyuck looking down at him tender-heartedly.

Just a little bump they've smoothed over in their tranquil life, like in any other person's. Nothing they can't deal with.

It's so dark, it's difficult to tell where Donghyuck begins and where Mark ends—maybe, there is no beginning or end. It's just them, tied in a loop of thick, red thread and decorated with shimmery, opal shells.

"I love you too, Mark."

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have the strength to write end notes so just take care of yourself and drink water. 
> 
> also pwp is not my cup of tea. I'm not writing another if I can help it.


End file.
